


A Weapon Left Behind

by vials



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, a very sad Q, apparent character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:45:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: When Q gets the news that James has been killed on assignment, his world is shattered. He doesn't even have the presence of mind to have a little more faith in his inventions, which is a big mistake, really.





	

Logically, Q knew that only seconds could have passed. Despite this knowledge it still felt as though it had been hours; that he had been standing frozen in time with his words caught in his throat, his brain buzzing but no thoughts coming clear enough to turn to words.

Once time returned to him again Q suddenly found the urge to laugh, feeling ridiculous. There had to be some kind of mistake, after all – there was no way that he had actually heard those words. He had just thought he had heard them and freaked out over nothing, which was no wonder really, considering he couldn’t remember the last time he slept.

“Killed him?” he asked, incredulous, and his voice sounded as though it were coming from some place very far away. He could hear a note of laughter in it, whether humour or disbelief he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t have the time to work it out because he was beginning to realise that no one else in the room seemed to be sharing his scepticism. He glanced around, first at Tanner, who quickly avoided his gaze, and then at M, who continued to stare evenly at him, his face grim. Q swallowed, holding his gaze and suddenly feeling the disbelief drain out of him. “Wait, what, literally?”

His words lingered in the air, amplified by the silence that met them. Q wet his lips and glanced around again, looking for any confirmation that he was missing something. He couldn’t find it, and he felt his panic beginning to rise. 

“I don’t understand,” he said, helpless, and M finally cleared his throat and shifted slightly, glancing away before forcing himself to look back at Q properly. 

“I’m afraid there’s nothing more to explain, Q,” he said, and Q wondered if it was taking effort for him to keep his voice so steady or if it came naturally after losing enough agents. 

“He can’t be dead,” Q said, hearing his voice beginning to rise in pitch. “That’s – that’s impossible. He’s never died before. He’s always come back. Why aren’t you looking for him?”

“Q,” M said, and Q heard in his tone that he was going to say something he didn’t want to hear. He shook his head, desperately forcing more words out as though if he argued enough he could somehow make himself right.

“You _know_ he always comes back. How many times have we thought he died and then he shows up a few weeks later, perfectly fine? This is just what he does, you can’t _possibly_ believe James is actually _dead_. That’s – that’s ridiculous. There’s no way he could be dead – we were right about to get him. We were about to get him out of there, and the last I checked everything was going according to plan. What the hell went so wrong in the last few hours that he’s apparently _dead_? You’re – this is –”

“I saw it, Q.”

M’s voice was firm and loud enough for Q to hear it over his own frantic words; he immediately stopped speaking and looked at him, his brain trying to find a way to ignore what he had heard or find some way that the whole thing could have been a misunderstanding. M stared at him, his face tight with something – pity, maybe, or grief, or simply discomfort at being the person telling Q this to begin with – but the main thing that Q was looking for was absent from his expression. There was no doubt in Q’s mind that M was telling him the truth. There was no doubt in Q’s mind that this was real.

“You… you saw it.” Q was amazed at how unlike himself he sounded. His voice was flat now, completely devoid of the panic and disbelief it had held only seconds earlier. “I see.”

“I suppose they wanted to ensure there was no way we could be mistaken,” M said, his voice still steady, and Q was possessed with the brief urge to slap him or shake him or do _something_ to make him react to all of this. How could he be so calm when he was telling him that James was dead? “I hoped otherwise as well, Q, but it would be cruel of me to give you false hope. I wanted to tell you before the official announcement was made.”

Q took a deep breath, suddenly feeling light-headed. He steadied himself, carefully thinking over his words before speaking. Even so, it was an effort to force out the little he managed.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I’m sure you know we did everything we could,” M continued, and Q didn’t want to hear anything else at the same time as he was desperate for answers. “The tracking you and the rest of Q-branch did was incredible, and everything was set up as planned. Unfortunately sometimes there are variables we can’t predict. The official investigation into what went wrong is only just beginning, but right now we can safely assume that they realised they were surrounded and realised they no longer had a bargaining chip while so hopelessly outnumbered. I imagine it was a final act of spite from people who knew it was over for them.”

“Exactly the way he deserved to die, I’m sure,” Q said, cruelly and completely unnecessarily. It barely loosened the increasing tightness around his chest. M at least had the courtesy to pretend he hadn’t spoken.

“You are free to go home, if that is what you would like to do. Take as much time as you need, though of course if you feel it would be best to stay busy, no one will make you leave. Someone will be in touch later, regarding where we go from here. I’m incredibly sorry, Q.”

There were still questions Q wanted to ask, but quite suddenly he realised he didn’t have the strength to hear the answers. He struggled to remain standing, his chest still tightening, his head spinning. He forced himself to take a deep breath and miraculously managed to keep his voice level when he spoke. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I need some time to think,” he said, and he could have almost fooled himself that he was actually calm, that he was simply taking the news in and his world wasn’t shattering around him. M gave a small nod, and Q turned and headed for the door, somehow managing to walk in a straight line and coordinate opening it and walking through it, and then managing to navigate through the other room and head towards that door, barely aware of Eve calling after him, her tone worried and insistent. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, instead wrenching open the next door with a lot less coordination, his breaths suddenly coming to him in short, desperate gasps, and he heard footsteps behind him as he stumbled through and for a moment he sincerely thought he would start running but at the first step his legs betrayed him and he collapsed to his knees instead, his breath heaving, warm tears streaking his cheeks and blurring his vision though he didn’t even remember when he had started crying. He realised that it wasn’t actually his breaths that he could hear – he was sobbing, loudly, hysterically, and no matter how hard he tried to swallow them back they kept coming. His chest ached and only hurt more as each second passed; Q didn’t think it would ever stop hurting. 

Someone was crouched next to him now, gathering him in their arms, and faintly Q could recognise Eve’s voice, also thick with tears. 

“Q, oh my god, Q, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think he would actually be – oh my god, Q, I’m so sorry.”

The stupidest thing about the whole situation was that Q found himself trying to force back sobs long enough to tell her that it was OK, that he was fine. He couldn’t find the words, and maybe that was a good thing – even through his racing thoughts he realised how pointless the effort would be. He didn’t want to be sitting there, crying helplessly, slumped on the floor, but it seemed as though he were incapable of doing anything else.

He tried several times to hold back his sobbing long enough to say something coherent, but it was still several minutes before he managed it, every word an effort. 

“It’s – I – I’m sorry, I need – I can’t –”

Q stumbled to his feet as he spoke, his knees weak and his body tense all over from his subconscious efforts to stop shaking. Eve stood with him, her eyes red, her expression a mixture of grief and worry.

“Let me take you home,” she told him, as Q steadied himself against the wall. “Please, Q. You can’t go off by yourself right now.”

Q shook his head. “I can’t – not without… I can’t go back.” His breaths grew erratic again, and it was another thirty seconds before he could speak. “Not without him.”

“Then come back to mine. We’ll stop by and I’ll get you some clothes and your cats and you can stay with me. Please, Q.”

Q thought the last thing he wanted was company, but he knew she was right – he could hardly go off by himself, and there was no way he would be able to bring himself to go back to the flat he had shared with James. He couldn’t wander the streets all night, and he didn’t fancy his chances trying to get a hotel in this state, and besides, even if company was the last thing he wanted right now he thought it would be worse if he knew he was completely alone, rather than just self-secluded with someone just down the hall. He took a deep breath, knowing it was the logical thing to do, but at the same time he couldn’t fully commit just yet.

“I will,” he said, still taking slow, measured breaths between speaking, all of his effort going towards not dissolving into sobs again. “But I need – just for a few hours, I just need to be alone. I need to think.”

Eve looked at him for a moment, before she sighed and nodded reluctantly. “You _promise_ you’ll come to mine?”

“I will,” Q said again, stumbling away from the wall with the sudden urge to get out into the fresh air. “I promise, I – I’m sorry, Eve, I just – I need some time.”

He stumbled away before she could reply, some part of him feeling slightly rude for it, but his head was spinning and he was sure he was about to be sick. He hurried through the building, barely aware of where he was going, some subconscious part of him remembering the way as he dodged past people and mumbled apologies and finally burst through the door and into the cold winter air. 

The sudden temperature change knocked the wind out of him and made him all the more aware of the tears on his face. He stood quite still for a long moment, breathing in great gulps until he felt his lungs aching with the cold, and finally his thoughts seemed to settle and a chill rushed over him that was nothing to do with the weather. He looked around himself, seeing everything was still and silent, the sun bright but low in the sky and colouring everything that odd colour that Q had come to associate with London in the winter – a kind of silvery haze, making the edges of the buildings glow. It all looked so ordinary, and Q felt a rush of anger, feeling as though something should have changed now James was gone; that surely the country he had died for should register some sign of grief. He felt ridiculous for even thinking it, but it still made him feel heavier and more alone that he could remember feeling in his life. 

He started walking because he could think of nothing else to do. Walking had always helped him think and he hoped it would shake loose some ideas now, about what he would do or where he would go from here. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he must be in shock, but it wasn’t as though he could do anything about that and the thought of staying still was more of a worry to him than the idea that he might get himself lost in this state. He walked and walked, and when he couldn’t walk any more he took buses and trains and finally, after two hours of zig-zagging aimlessly across the city, he found himself stumbling out of the artificial lights and stuffy heat of the underground station at Trafalgar Square, and wondered if he had done this to himself intentionally.

Despite the fact it was towards the end of the afternoon, the square was still full of activity. Q moved through them without seeing them, brushing past people hurrying home early and tourists on winter breaks, and he found himself wondering who they were with and who they were going home to. He already hated them for it even though he knew it was unfair – it wasn’t their fault James was dead, after all, but he wished they’d have some common decency before reminding him of how alone he was now. His thoughts flickered to his empty flat and he felt a wave of nausea rush over him again; he swallowed it back and forced himself up the stairs towards the National Gallery, knowing that there was no point denying himself this now he was already here. 

The room was almost exactly how he remembered it and he carried himself there without having to think. Only a few people stood around the edges of the room, leaving the seats in the middle free. Q dragged himself over to them with the last of his strength and collapsed down in front of that now familiar painting, the same one that hung on the wall in their bedroom as a print they’d bought on their first trip here as a couple. It had been James’s idea, and Q had thought he had been teasing at first. He had been touched beyond words when he realised James was serious.

Q stared hard at the painting and tried to ignore the way his vision kept blurring. He wanted to sniff but it would be too obvious in the quiet room so he resorted to wiping his nose on his sleeve instead, trying to blink back the tears that were dripping down his cheeks once more, warm on his chilled skin. He was terrified that if he allowed himself to acknowledge he was crying, he would break down and never stop. He closed his eyes and listened to the stillness around him and tried to draw comfort from the fact that if he concentrated as hard as he could, he could almost feel James’s reassuring warmth next to him, pressed up beside him on the seat. 

_Don’t do this to me, James_ , he thought, desperately, suddenly. _Don’t leave me here_. 

He kept his eyes closed for as long as he dared, hoping that when he opened them again, James would somehow be there. He knew it would be a mistake, that he shouldn’t dare to imagine such things, but it was hardly as though he could help himself. When he opened his eyes he immediately regretted it – the room was empty and he was completely alone, the imagined warmth beside him gone. 

He only managed to force himself to move when he realised the Gallery was closing for the night; back out in the now dark square he wondered what to do with himself. He felt disjointed, as though that was the only place he had and he had been forced out from it, and strangely the panic threatened to overwhelm him and he was overcome with the urge to run back in, to hide until the place was closed and then curl up on that seat and stay as close to the painting as possible, as though if he waited there for long enough, James would come back. He found himself frozen to the spot, a still point in the thinning crowd around him, so overwhelmed with panic that he could barely remember which way to walk.

“Q.”

A firm hand clasped his shoulder and Q jumped, looking to the side to find Tanner standing there, his face tight with worry. Q didn’t remember starting to walk; he just blindly followed along as Tanner moved him through the straggling groups of people and along the street, across a couple of roads and finally down a quiet side street where there was a car waiting, its engine running. Q got in without a word and stared blankly out of the window as the car turned around and headed back into the crawling London traffic, his heart still thudding in his chest as the last of the panic drained from him, leaving him suddenly exhausted. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was apologising for. 

“No need to be,” Tanner told him, looking over and giving him a weak smile. “You can’t honestly think we let you run off out there after news like that without keeping an eye on you, do you?”

“Still,” Q said, clearing his throat. “I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit.”

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself. You’ve suffered a massive shock. I doubt any of us would be on our best game. Miss Moneypenny tells me I’m under strict orders to bring you to her flat. She says she’s already picked up your things.”

Q nodded. “I promised,” he said, suddenly remembering. “Christ, what time is it?”

“It’s almost eight o’clock,” Tanner said, without having to check. “Plenty late enough, I think. You didn’t bring a jacket, did you?”

Q glanced down, seeing that he had forgotten it, probably leaving it hanging up at M’s office. He suddenly realised that he was uncomfortably cold, and he felt almost humiliated. How had he managed to be so thoroughly out of it? Really, it was a good job that M had had the sense to have someone tail him and let them know where he could be picked up. He had probably been a walking security vulnerability for the past several hours, and he knew for a fact that James wouldn’t be happy with him at all. 

The thought settled heavily in Q’s head and he tried to force it back, wondering how many other unpleasant reminders he was going to have. Would he keep forgetting James was dead, day in, day out, for the rest of his life? Or would he eventually remember as soon as he woke up and found the bed empty beside him, a realisation that would never leave him until he fell into sleep again that night? He wasn’t sure which prospect was more unpleasant. 

Eve had clearly been watching for them, because she buzzed them in the second that Tanner pressed his finger to the button. Tanner accompanied him in the lift and along to where Eve was waiting worriedly in the door of her flat; she tutted when she saw him, reaching out and gently taking him by the wrist.

“Come here, look at you – I can tell how cold you are just from seeing you. Thanks for bringing him up, Tanner. Would you mind letting M know he’s not going to be in tomorrow? I’m sure he knows already, but just to confirm.”

“I’ll let him know,” Tanner said, before looking at Q. “Look after yourself, Q.”

Q managed a weak nod, and then Eve was closing the door and leading him through the warm flat to the living room. She’d already made tea, and with the TV on low and the sofa covered in blankets, Q thought that it actually looked a lot better than those lonely seats back in the Gallery. 

“I know food is probably the last thing you feel like, but at least try and drink some tea,” Eve said, as they folded themselves into the blankets. “I’m sure you’ll need the sugar.”

“I’m really sorry about this,” Q said, shaking his head. “I feel bloody useless.”

“No one’s blaming you for that,” Eve said, smiling. “Q, for god’s sake, give yourself a break. You just got awful news. Of course you’re going to be feeling out of it for a while. The best thing you can do is let yourself. You must know that trying to pretend this isn’t happening won’t get you anywhere.”

“I know,” Q said, sighing. “But I can’t help it. I know it’s stupid – I know it’ll just hurt more in the long run, but I can’t accept it. I just… it doesn’t feel right. I feel like… I don’t know how to describe it. It feels like it isn’t real.”

“That’s normal, though,” Eve said gently. “It doesn’t hit you all at once. I don’t think anyone could handle all of that hitting them at once. It’s shock. It’ll wear off eventually, when you can deal with everything.”

“It’s just – this kind of thing has happened before,” Q said, finding some of his strength returning to him as he sipped at his tea. “Never like this, but he’s vanished or we’ve lost contact or he’s been injured and then he’s shown up again. I just can’t stop thinking that maybe this time, it’s going to be the same deal.”

“You’ve never gone to pieces like this before,” Eve said hesitantly, and Q looked at her. “Q, I’ve never seen you so upset. Usually you’re worried when this kind of thing happens – you’re stressed and maybe a bit irritable, but you’ve never broken down like that. What’s different this time? You have to acknowledge it.”

Q swallowed, shaking his head. “It was just a shock. It isn’t usually M who tells me. Usually I hear over the comms.”

“But he told you something that made you believe it,” Eve said, her voice a little firmer. “What was it, Q?”

“I asked him how he knew,” Q said, clearing his throat. “Because James has done this before, and I wanted to know how M was so sure, so I asked.”

“And what did he say?”

There was a long pause. Q felt suddenly heavy.

“He said he saw it,” he eventually said, clearing his throat again. “I don’t know the details. A video, maybe. I have no idea. He said he saw them kill James. I don’t know what—”

“Q, what are you doing?”

Q was barely aware of the fact he had stumbled to his feet, glancing around the room. He looked back at Eve, feeling suddenly distant, as though he wasn’t in his body.

“Where’s my laptop?” he asked, and Eve looked at him blankly for a moment before realisation flashed across her face and her eyes widened.

“Oh, no. No, Q,” she said, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Tell me where it is.”

“Q, I can’t let you do that. You know I can’t let you do that. You can’t ask me to let you go and try and find that, with everything you’re going through –”

“I need to know. I need to see it.”

“Q, _no_. You know you don’t want to see that, and even if for some reason you _did_ , I can’t let you go hacking into M’s files when you’re in a state like this. You shouldn’t be hacking into his files anyway, it would cost you your bloody job if you were caught!”

“He won’t find out it’s me. He won’t even notice I’ve been there. Come on, Eve, you know I won’t get caught.”

“Alright, say you won’t get caught,” Eve said, throwing her hands in the air. “But you want to watch James _die_?”

Hearing it put so bluntly had the same effect as throwing a bucket of ice water over him. Q paused, blinking, and then he slowly shook his head.

“I don’t want to see that,” he said quietly.

“So then why…?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Q collapsed back down onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. “I guess I just want to see something that will prove this is real,” he said, his voice muffled. “I can’t believe it. I don’t think I will. Not unless I saw some solid proof. I don’t even know if they have a body. I didn’t even ask.”

There was a brief silence, and then Q felt the sofa shift as Eve edged closer to him, reaching out and putting her arm around him. Q leaned into her, feeling himself beginning to tremble again – he was sure he didn’t have any tears left in his body, but he could feel his eyes beginning to sting already. His head throbbed with pain and his chest still ached. Quite suddenly, all he wanted to do was sleep. Even with that realisation, it took him ten minutes to work up the strength to speak; he realised that at some point Eve had leaned back against the sofa and pulled the blankets back over them, and Q felt almost bad for disturbing them.

“You don’t have any sleeping pills or anything similar, do you?” he asked. “I don’t think I can deal with lying awake all night, and I’m honestly done with this for today.”

“I think I’ve got something in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom,” Eve said. “I’ll go and check for you. I’ve got the spare room set up for you already, if you want to make yourself comfortable.”

Q did just that, making his way along the hallway and finding that Eve had laid some of his clothes out, his laptop sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. His eyes lingered on it for a moment and then he felt his stomach twist with guilt – he couldn’t do something like that here, not when Eve was being so good to him. She was right – he didn’t want to see it, and he knew nothing good would come of it. He had no idea how he would react, and he didn’t want to bring that down on Eve when she was trying to look after him.

His cats were there, both of them curled up on the bed, obviously on his clothing and not on any of the other space they had. 

“Scoot,” he murmured to one of them, who gave a meow of protest as he wrestled a pair of loose trousers out from under her. “Don’t give me that. You’d never get moved so patiently if James was here. He’d just pick the trousers right up and you would have to deal with it.”

He had meant the words to be lighthearted but they settled heavily around him. Q swallowed, reaching out and scratching the cat behind her ears. She closed her eyes and purred, and Q found himself wondering if the cats would notice James’s absence, or if it would be something he would have to bear alone.

There was a knock on the door, and Q turned to see Eve standing in the doorway, holding a glass of water and waving a packet of pills at him.

“You’re in luck,” she told him. “These should knock you right out. Only take one at first, even though it says you can take two. Seriously, just one does the trick – I took two once and I don’t think I stopped tripping until afternoon the next day.”

Q managed a smile, gratefully taking the pills and water from her. “Thanks. I feel kind of bad that I’m just going to sleep all evening.”

“I don’t blame you,” Eve said, giving a small shrug. “You need It, Q. I think you’ve dealt with quite enough for one day. Just get some rest, and we’ll talk tomorrow, if you want to.”

Q nodded, finding it easier to commit to tomorrow when he knew he wouldn’t have to think about it in a few minutes. Eve had been telling the truth, and Q remembered nothing after ten minutes of taking one of the pills. He found that he slept solidly and dreamlessly, and if he were honest with himself, that had been exactly what he wanted. Laying down, the cats curling up beside him, he had fully intended to get up the next morning and make a go of making sense of the new life he had found himself in; it turned out that his determination had left him by morning, and when he felt himself waking up properly he allowed himself enough consciousness to run to the bathroom and then pop another pill. It was late afternoon when he woke up the second time, and he quickly committed to the pattern he would stick to for the next three days.

There was another reason to spend so long asleep – Q felt bad for Eve, because she was trying her best and he knew he was being utterly impossible. He was fairly certain that by the third day she was considered calling a medical professional to see if he should even be trusted to make such decisions, but luckily for him there was a brief emergency at work and she had to spend several hours in her study sorting it all out, giving Q plenty of time to drop off to sleep again before she could bring it up with him. He had a faint idea that it would probably be the last time he would get away with it – sure enough, the next time he woke up, the pills were gone from his nightstand.

The guilt returned to him as consciousness did, and it was the only reason he forced himself to get up. He stumbled to the bathroom and stared blearily into the mirror, seeing that despite all of the sleeping he still had dark circles under his eyes. His hair was messier than he’d ever seen it and in need of a wash, and he could do with a serious shave. He frowned at himself and shook his head, quickly brushing his teeth and then forcing himself down the hallway to the kitchen. 

The light was on but it was deserted – Q quickly spotted a note on the table addressed to him, written in Eve’s neat handwriting.

_Q – sorry, had to run into work. Apparently everyone is utterly useless without me there. I should be back before it gets too late. Please don’t look for the pills, you won’t find them. Try and have something to eat instead. Eve xxx_

Q paused for a moment, wondering what to do with the empty few hours ahead of him. He made a vow that he would at least try and eat something, if only to apologise to Eve for the sleeping for three days thing and all the worry that had probably caused her, but not right now. He couldn’t explain why, but he couldn’t settle. He looked around the kitchen, trying to work out what might be causing him to feel so disjointed, but everything looked completely ordinary.

“Probably all the pills,” he told himself. “You can’t pop sleeping pills for three days straight and expect to feel normal.”

His voice bounced off the walls and made the flat seem even quieter. Q frowned, trying to focus on the feeling. It seemed so familiar, but at the same time he couldn’t quite place it. He moved quietly from room to room, peering in doors and glancing around corners until he finally placed it. 

It felt as though he were being watched.

As soon as he realised it, he felt his heart kick up pace. He knew that like at his own flat, there were panic alarms in the bathroom, the main bedroom, and the living room, but would he be overreacting if he hit one already? After all, he had just confirmed that there was no one in the house, and he wasn’t exactly in his right mind at the moment. He rationalised that it was probably paranoia, but the feeling wouldn’t shake. Q crept back along the hall to the living room, looking around himself and finding nothing out of place. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he told himself. “Pull yourself together. You don’t want everything thinking you’ve completely lost it, do you?”

No sooner had he finished speaking was there a soft clunk from behind him. Q briefly froze, and then he turned slowly to face the sliding doors that lead out onto a nicely sized balcony that usually overlooked the river; tonight the curtains were drawn across them, but Q could see them beginning to billow out as a breeze entered. He felt the cold air reach his bare toes across the carpet, and suddenly he found he couldn’t breathe. He stood there, fully exposed in the middle of the living room, his eyes fixed on the curtains as he waited for them to be pushed aside. Strangely, he felt suddenly calm.

He saw movement behind the curtain, the sound of a step as someone moved from the balcony through the doorway, and then the curtain was pushed aside and Q thought he was surely dreaming.

“James,” he said, his voice strangely high pitched, and apparently that was the limit of what his brain could tolerate that evening because he didn’t remember much more after that. He remembered feeling his legs give out, and he remembered the sensation of falling but not hitting the ground, and the next thing he knew he was lying on the sofa with the blankets piled up around him, and somehow James was still there, a warm hand pressed to Q’s forehead with enough pressure and familiarity that he knew it must actually be there. 

“You’re dead,” he said anyway, because it was all he could think to say.

“That’s news to me,” James replied, amused, and Q was possessed with the comforting urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t quite have the energy, instead squinting up at him to try and confirm that it was definitely him.

“This is a dream, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Can you faint in your dreams?” James asked, raising an eyebrow.

“This isn’t real. You’re dead. They told me you were dead.”

“How many times have I been dead now?”

“No,” Q mumbled, trying to sit up, but James gently pressed him back down again. “You’re dead. M saw it.”

“He saw it, did he?”

“Yes.”

“What did he see?”

“He didn’t tell me. I meant to ask, but I forgot.”

He heard James shift slightly, the hand suddenly gone from his forehead, but he didn’t have the energy to turn and watch. He head James continuing to shift around, the rustle of clothing, and then James was back, leaning into his field of vision, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a large and incredibly vivid bruise that covered a good quarter of his chest. It looked fresh, all black and dark purple, and Q could see from how tense James’s muscles were that unbuttoning his shirt had caused him a lot of discomfort. 

“They didn’t shoot me in the head,” James said, as Q pushed himself up onto his elbows, blinking at the bruise. “I don’t know why, considering that’s always a pretty surefire way to kill someone. I suppose they were going for some dramatic statement, shooting me in the heart like that. It knocked me right out, and I imagine I must have looked quite realistically dead. Unfortunately for them, my Quartermaster didn’t let me down.”

Q could feel his thoughts beginning to clear, and he looked up at James’s face, staring at him for a long moment. 

“The vest,” he said.

“You weren’t lying when you told me it wouldn’t be noticeable,” James said, and Q thought that he looked slightly impressed. “I have to admit, I didn’t think anything so lightweight would be able to stop a bullet fired at close range, but I suppose I should have listened to you.”

“Well, you did listen to me,” Q said, trying to shake the disbelief from his head. “If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been wearing it, and you would be dead by now.”

“I’m not _entirely_ unscathed, of course,” James said. “A few broken ribs, some internal bruising, not to mention it aches like a bugger. But I suppose I owe you a thank you.”

“Yes, well,” Q said, clearing his throat as he forced himself to sit up properly. “It is my job, and I do rather like it when you come home from these things.”

“I suppose this is a yes for rolling out the prototype as standard field equipment, then?”

“I suppose it is,” Q nodded, before being struck with how utterly surreal this whole thing was. He decided to focus on the question that was at the forefront of his mind, simply because he wasn’t quite ready to think about everything else that was strange about this situation yet. “Um, James. Out of interest, why did you decide to scale a building in your state and break in through the balcony rather than… I don’t know, just ringing the bell?”

“And have the facial recognition software pick me up and drag me off for debriefing before I could see you? No, I’ve had quite enough of work for this week. I’d much prefer the evening off.”

“Well, will you at least –”

“I’ll email you a write up of how I got past the security system, Q,” James said, smiling, and Q was suddenly overcome with a rush of familiarity and love that was so strong he felt his eyes burning. He blinked rapidly, as though if by doing so he thought James might not notice.

“I thought you were dead, you utter arsehole,” he said quietly, his throat tight. 

“I came back as soon as I could,” James said. “But I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner.”

“You’re really here, right?” Q asked, hating how timid he suddenly sounded, as though just saying the words would wake him up from whatever dream he was having. “This is actually happening?”

“It’s real. I’m here. Come on, Q, I thought you would be used to this by now.”

Q let out a shaky laugh. “I’ll never get used to it.”

“Then I suppose you better keep up the good work, then,” James said, beginning to button up his shirt again. Q watched him, seeing the shirt gradually covering up the bruise until it had vanished from sight completely. Looking at James now, he could barely believe he was injured at all; it was dizzying to think about the fact that an hour earlier, he had thought James was dead.

“You’re really here,” Q said, suddenly breathless, the realisation that this was actually happening finally beginning to sink in. He felt lighter than he had done in days, his heart thudding in his chest and his head spinning as though he were drunk. “You’re actually –”

He managed to stand up, remembering not to pull James into a hug at the last moment, not wanting to hurt him but wanting to touch him all the same. He settled for standing on his tiptoes and cupping James’s face, pressing their lips together as hard as he could get away with. 

When they broke apart, Q was laughing.

“You’re here,” he said again, and he could feel his cheeks were damp. 

“I’m here,” James said, pulling Q closer again, and Q kissed him quickly, over and over as though he still couldn’t quite believe it. 

“You are an utter bastard,” he said, when they finally paused, and James just laughed. “I mean it. A total and utter _bastard_. I thought you were dead, I’ve been a complete wreck for three bloody days and I’m pretty sure Eve was about to pack me off for a psych eval, and then you come strutting in here like it’s no big deal and _honestly_ , you’re a complete and utter _bastard_.”

“It’s very difficult to believe you mean this scolding when you’re smiling like that, Q.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face. Honestly, you can be so bloody arrogant. Perhaps next time I’ll send you out on the field with a toy gun and a toothpick, and see how smug you are then.”

“And you say that you’ve been a wreck. Sounds like you haven’t changed a bit to me.”

“Shut up, Bond,” Q said, and kissed him again.


End file.
